


Enthralled

by ObsidianPen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Harrymort - Freeform, Hunter!Harry, M/M, Vampire!Voldemort, Vampires, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianPen/pseuds/ObsidianPen
Summary: “Do you know what it is like, to be bitten by a vampire?”





	Enthralled

**Author's Note:**

> Responding to a prompt. Thoughts are always appreciated.

Harry ran.

Ducking, weaving, practically flying as he went, jumping over fallen brushwood and avoiding wayward branches. He was out there, Harry knew it—the bastard was tracking him, roaming in circles around him as Harry sprinted for all he was worth. The only reason the monster hadn’t already attacked was because Harry had a long, silver blade, he was sure. Or, just as likely, because this _particular_ monster liked to play with his food before he fed. Which was why this plan was going to work.

He knew what he was doing.

Harry lunged forward, swinging his sword and hacking his way through a thorny mass of branches. He only had to make it a little further and he would be there… That little alcove, he was so close…

 _Yes,_ Harry thought, triumph blooming in his heart—but he didn’t let it show. He pretended to look horrified, like he had not known this wall of rocky terrain would be here, blocking him in. Harry whirled around, holding his sword up, acting like someone who was panicked but feigning bravery.

“My, my…”

The shudder that ran up Harry’s spine was no act. Smooth and low, an entrancing tenor. Harry turned to face the source of it.

_Voldemort._

Harry had only ever seen the Lord of the Vampires once in person, and it had not been a pleasant interaction. He had tried very hard to kill Harry then, after their little ‘conversation’, but that was nothing new. Voldemort had been trying to kill Harry ever since he was a baby. Was obsessed with it, for some reason. He’d killed his parents trying to get to him when he was a year old, failing only because Harry’s mother had the foresight to drug herself before he broke into their home. Or that was the theory, at least. Enchanted poison of some kind was the only explanation anyone could come up with for what happened. For when Voldemort drank Lily’s blood, it came as close to killing him as vampires could ever could come to death. He’d needed to hide himself away, sleeping for years until one of his followers finally resurrected him.

After that fateful night, Harry was taken into Dumbledore’s care. He lived alongside others like him, training with them and learning how to face these monsters— _hunters_ , just like his parents were before him. They were fighters in the war between the living and the dead, Dumbledore said, and it was a war that had been going on for thousands of years. Harry’s whole life had revolved around vampires… Or one vampire, he should say. The current Vampire Lord, the one who was hell-bent on killing him.

But why?

Nothing about what happened when his parents were killed made sense. It shouldn’t have been possible for Voldemort to get to them in the first place—a vampire can’t cross the threshold of someone’s dwelling, not unless they are invited in… and Harry was pretty sure his parents didn’t invite in the sort of monster they’d dedicated their lives to killing. Especially not one who was mysteriously obsessed with murdering their infant son.

Just one of many things that didn’t add up about that Halloween night fifteen years ago. Dumbledore refused to tell him things, thinking he wasn’t ready for the truth yet. Well, Harry was done being kept in the dark.

If Dumbledore wouldn’t give him answers… Voldemort would.

The Vampire Lord smiled, fangs exposed, gleaming in the moonlight. “Looks like you’ve run out of places to run, Harry,” he said, taking a few steps nearer to him.

Harry swallowed hard, lifting his sword higher—but secretly, he was barely containing laughter. _Just come a few steps closer, Riddle…_

“Guess that means it’s time to kill you then, Tom.”

Voldemort froze and his taunting grin vanished. Voldemort hated his human name, the one he’d cast aside when he became an immortal creature. Harry was sure that he did not think anyone knew it any longer.

“Did Dumbledore tell you that?” Voldemort snarled. “Your valiant protector, your _mentor_?”

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

Voldemort let out a low hiss, much like a snake, but then he regained his composure. He smiled again. “But Dumbledore is not here to protect you now,” he murmured. His black eyes shone hungrily.

“That’s right,” said Harry. “It’s just you and me, Tom… So let’s end this. Right here, right now.”

Harry shifted so he was in a better fighting stance, turning to one side, keeping his eyes on Voldemort. For a second, it looked like Voldemort was going to strike right then, and Harry braced himself—but he didn’t.

“Why _have_ you sought me out in such a manner… alone?” he asked, his head tilting to one side. The light of the moon spilled across his pale skin, making it glow like polished marble. Harry was breathless.

 _Beautiful_.

It was a fleeting thought, and Harry shook it away easily enough. All vampires were stunning, for some horrible reason. Harry had seen enough of them to know. But this was the first time he was getting a good look at Voldemort up close, and it was infuriating, really, that he should be the most beautiful vampire of all. He’d turned into a vampire when he was young—sixteen was what Dumbledore said, though Harry thought he looked older than that—but it was all a lie either way. Voldemort was _old_.

 _Just because he’s ancient doesn’t mean I’m a useless child though,_ Harry thought viciously, remembering his last fight with Dumbledore, who once more refused to answer his questions.

“Because I’m older now,” Harry said. “Because I’m strong enough now to fight you on my own now. To destroy you… and all your fucking spawn.”

 _Cut off the head and kill the beast,_ came Hermione’s voice, echoing in the back of Harry’s head. She knew everything there was to know about these monsters, bookworm that she was. Killing a vampire Lord also killed all the vampires they sired. If Voldemort died, then so would all the people he’d turned into horrible, blood-thirsty monsters that were nearly as bad as he was.

Voldemort’s lips curled to one side, and then he laughed.

It was both a lovely and chilling sound—Harry shivered as it ricocheted off the mountainous walls behind him, reverberating in the alcove to his side. “Destroy me?” he said, sounding far too amused. “You, at the very intimidating age of _fifteen_? Not even Dumbledore in his prime could destroy me, Harry… He tried and failed _over and over again…_ ”

Voldemort took another step closer, prowling, preparing to attack. _Just a bit closer, you psycho…_

“Good thing I’m not him then,” Harry said, stepping back, drawing Voldemort closer to him. “I may be only fifteen, but I have a better track record with you, don’t I? For such a powerful Vampire Lord, you think you’d have better luck killing a kid… but you keep failing, _over and over again_ …”

Voldemort glowered. “Which ends tonight,” he fumed. “Oh, how I am going to enjoy watching the light fade from your eyes when I—”

He froze. Voldemort abruptly stopped walking, his body pressing against air as though it were a tangible force. His face lit up in confusion. He could come no closer. “What…?”

Harry lowered his sword, and now it was his turn to laugh.

Voldemort’s eyes scoured the landscape, darting around from the alcove to the dusty ground where there were ashes and a few branches—the remnants of a fire. He put it all together much quicker than Harry would have thought. “You have been living here,” he said in a low and deadly voice.

Harry nodded. “Home sweet home,” he said happily. “I’ve been staying here for a few days now. Surprisingly easy to get away with—Dumbledore is awfully busy these days, and he thinks I’m working on a mission in London. Meanwhile, everyone else thinks I’m abroad. But instead I’ve been here, camping out. It’s been quite nice, actually. Here, look.”

Harry ducked into the alcove and grabbed a few things, holding them up so Voldemort could see. “I’ve got a sleeping bag, clothes, a few cups and even a plate! Personal belongings, you know. Really makes it a _home_ … and I’m not inviting in you in. You’re nearly standing in my kitchen, by the way. Rude.”

Voldemort’s expression darkened so dangerously that Harry almost lost his nerve—but then his features were pleasant once more, breaking out into a smile that was distressingly alluring. “Clever,” he murmured. “ _Very_ clever.”

“I… yes,” Harry said. He didn’t like the way Voldemort was grinning at him now, flattering him like he was genuinely impressed. Harry felt his face growing warm under such an appraising look.

“Clever, but inherently flawed… You cannot stay in this… _home_ of yours indefinitely. You’re human. You’ll need to leave soon enough.”

“I don’t need to stay here indefinitely, just until sunrise,” Harry drawled. “And I’m perfectly aware of my humanity, thanks.”

“I’m sure.” Voldemort’s smile widened, and Harry was surprised to see that his fangs were no longer exposed. “Your plan was never to fight me tonight, then,” he concluded. “Just to lure me here… But I smell no other humans anywhere nearby. If this is a trap to catch me, Harry, then it is a very poor one.”

“Not a trap to catch you,” said Harry, though now he was wondering why the hell he hadn’t planned on doing something like that. A silver net, or something, might have been smart. It couldn’t kill them, no—very little could kill a vampire—but silver burned their skin, causing them terrible pain, and could be used to hold them. “Just a trap to get you in a position to speak to me without killing me.”

Voldemort’s eyes widened fractionally in surprise. “Speak with you?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “I want answers. You’re going to give them to me.”

Voldemort laughed again—a much colder sound than before. “Lord Voldemort does not _give_ anyone anything, Harry.”

“I think you might. See, I thought this through a lot,” Harry said conversationally. “I know more about you than you might guess, Tom... Thanks to Dumbledore. For example. You only feed on the full moon now, in some attempt to master yourself and your bloodlust. But the night is young, and the full moon’s tonight. You haven’t fed in a month. You’re practically starving right now, aren’t you?”

Voldemort only had a moment to look enraged that Harry knew this about him—because right then, without hesitating, Harry sliced his palm open along the blade of his sword.

The reaction was instant. Voldemort bristled, his eyes zeroing in on the trickle of blood like a feral animal. Harry grabbed his plate with his other hand and let the blood drip onto it. Voldemort looked spellbound, too enraptured by the sudden sight and scent of blood to be angry at the moment.  

“You want it, don’t you,” Harry murmured. A few more drops of blood fell onto the porcelain, red on white. “My blood. You always have. Give me some answers, and I’ll give it to you.”

Voldemort snapped out of it with a scowl. “You think I am that weak?” he said scornfully, but his eyes were glued the drops of blood, shining with lust. “You think that you can—”

Voldemort’s sentence died in his throat when Harry made another cut, this time on his wrist. It was deeper than the first, and Harry could tell the stronger smell of blood in the air hit Voldemort like a cannonball to chest. Harry got as close to threshold as he dared, holding his wrist up teasingly. Voldemort was standing directly in front of him in a flash, his inhuman speed catching Harry so off guard he almost jumped back—but he didn’t. Harry stayed where he was, keeping his bleeding wrist just out of Voldemort’s reach.

“Thirsty, aren’t you?” Harry taunted. The blood tricked from his wounds, wetting his sleeve as he let more of it drip onto the plate. “I’ll let you have this if—”

“Do you know what it is like, to be bitten by a vampire?”

Voldemort’s voice was suddenly low and lilting; his dark eyes flickered from Harry’s wrist to his face and back again. “I’m sure you think you know, but unless you have been fed upon, Harry, you do not.”

Harry’s breath caught. Voldemort was so close to him that he could count the lashes framing his eyes when he spoke, but there was a barrier between them, an invisible wall he could not cross. “It feels _good_ , Harry,” he purred. “Why do you think so many humans go _willingly_ to vampires, though they know they put their lives in the hands of beings who could so easily lose control and kill them? The venom of a vampire is euphoric. It is _ecstasy_ …”

Harry’s heart was pounding hard; Voldemort’s eyes focused on his chest like he could hear it. He probably could. “Invite me into your… _dwelling_ ,” he went on, his voice alluring in a way Harry would never have thought possible. “Let me show you…”

“So you c-can kill me by sucking me dry!?” Harry shouted shrilly. His face was hot, he was undeniably bothered. Harry would never have foreseen Voldemort attempting to trick him like this—by trying to _seduce_ him. “I don’t think so!”

Moving quickly, Harry set the bloody plate on the ground and shoved it forward with a stick, beyond the threshold, onto Voldemort’s side. Even that action nearly got him killed. Voldemort snatched the other end of the stick and pulled, hard, a lightning fast action that almost made Harry go stumbling forward— _almost_. Harry let go of the stick just in time, and Voldemort snapped it in half as Harry retreated backwards, further away from him.

“Nice try,” Harry snarled. He jabbed a finger down at the plate. “There. A peace offering. Go on, take it. I know you want it. And if you give me a few answers, and I’ll consider giving you more.”

“You are an utter fool,” Voldemort hissed. His shoulders began to shake; it seemed it was taking all his self-control to not lunge for the plate right then. “Do you know what would happen if I were to do that? To get such a meager taste of blood…?”

Harry blinked. He shook his head. “It’s as you said, Harry,” Voldemort continued in a drawl, “I have not fed for a month. I’m practically starving.” He leaned in as close to the barrier as he could, then drew in a long, slow breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring. “It would whet my appetite in a manner which would not lend itself to… _conversation_.”

“Oh,” Harry squeaked. He cleared his throat, mortified at how high his voice had become.

Voldemort smiled. Still no fangs. “Invite me in,” he said. It was a soft, breathy command. “I won’t kill you, Harry… My offer from before still stands, if you invite me in now…”

Harry scoffed, coming back to his senses. “Liar,” he spat. “That offer never stood in the first place. You want to kill me, you’ve always wanted to kill me. Ever since I was baby. Tell me why.”

Voldemort’s brows rose slightly at that. “Dumbledore hasn’t told you?” he asked.

“Obviously not, as I’m asking _you_ ,” Harry muttered.

Voldemort’s smile turned wicked. “Let me in, and perhaps I’ll tell you.”

“Hell no.”

“ _Let me in_ ,” Voldemort hissed. He started prowling along the outskirts of Harry’s ‘dwelling’, making Harry think of a tiger in a cage. He was quickly losing his composure—his eyes kept flickering to the plate on the ground, wide and wild. “Let me in, now, or—”

“Or what?” Harry interrupted. “You’ll keep marching around moodily? You’ll threaten me?” he barked out a laugh. “No. I’m in charge here.”

But he wouldn’t have anything to barter with if Voldemort didn’t cave and drink the blood he’d offered. He’d expected—or hoped, more like—that Voldemort would take it at once and be hungry for more, willing to tell him what he wanted to know. Harry had been told that Voldemort had exceptional control for a vampire, but he hadn’t expected it to be this good.

Unable to think of something else, Harry grabbed his sword and made another cut, hissing as he dragged the blade up his arm. Blood bloomed along the incision.

Instantly, Voldemort threw himself against the barrier, snarling with his fangs bared, having finally lost himself. Harry started and jumped back, shocked at the sudden onslaught. But he still couldn’t pass.

Then, in another rapid-fast movement, Voldemort was on the ground, kneeling with the plate in his hands, licking it clean. Harry watched with a bizarre fascination—it was such an animalistic display, the way he ran his tongue over it. His fangs scraped against the porcelain. He _moaned_ , a sound that made an uncomfortable heat pool in Harry’s gut.

When he was done, Voldemort’s eyes were no longer dark, but _red_ —a frightening, livid scarlet. Harry’s heart stuttered when they locked onto his. “Let me in,” he whispered, still on his knees.

“Answer my question,” Harry said.

Voldemort threw himself against the barrier again, much harder than he had the first time. “I will kill you,” he hissed, clawing against the enchantment but finding no purchase. “I will be your death, Harry Potter—”

“Wow, now I really want to invite you into my lovely home,” Harry drawled. “Okay then. Another question. How did you get into my parents’ house that Halloween night?”

Voldemort’s savage expression cleared. He looked shocked for a moment, and then, very slowly, he smiled. Harry’s heart froze at the unexpected sight.

“The same way I’m about to get into yours,” he murmured. His eyes flashed a brighter red.

He vanished.

Harry stood there, tumultuous panic erupting in his chest with the force of a cyclone. Why had Voldemort just left? Where did he go? What did he mean, _the same way I’m about to get into yours?_

Harry turned, unsure what to do. If Voldemort had left to go do something which would allow him into his dwelling, he couldn’t stay here. But if he passed the threshold, then he was just as exposed. How long would it take Voldemort to do whatever he needed to do? How much time did Harry have to run before he was back?

 _Probably not long,_ Harry thought, mind clouded with panic. And if that was the case, he was wasting time now.

The night seemed still and quiet; the forest, empty. If he was going to make a run for it, he had to do it now. Harry tore some fabric from his sleeve and, with shaking hands, wrapped it around his self-inflicted wounds. Then, feeling more afraid than he had all night, sprinted from his dwelling, sword held high and ready.

It happened quickly.

Harry only made it about ten steps before something barreled into him, slamming into his side and sending him sprawling on the ground. To his horror, his sword slipped from his grasp and went flying in the opposite direction, far from his reach.

“Stupid boy.”

Voldemort was on him, pinning him to the ground with his hands above his head in the dirt, straddling his waist. His smile was vicious, his eyes red and glowing like fire. “So easily tricked…”

Harry might have cursed himself if he could feel anything other than terrified. Voldemort had not left at all. He had only said that to get him to run. “D-don’t—”

Harry struggled, but Voldemort’s grip was like iron, holding him in place beneath him. “How I am going to enjoy this,” he said. “How long have I dreamed of this, of having you in my grasp…”

Voldemort lowered his head, grazing his nose along Harry’s chest and breathing deeply. Harry wondered why he was doing it, taking the time to inhale his scent, moving so methodically. It was obviously difficult for him. Was it to prove to himself that he had great self-control after all? That he could choose to not kill Harry right away, like a wild animal?

Or was he dragging this out just to torture him? 

“I am going to take my time with you, Harry Potter,” Voldemort purred, making Harry’s skin crawl and his heart pound. He laughed, lightly dragging his fangs along Harry’s neck, but not enough to pierce his skin. Harry shivered violently. “You want to know how I got into your parents’ home?” he asked, speaking in Harry’s ear. His tone was cruel and condescending. “It was Wormtail… Peter Pettigrew. Your father’s supposed friend. I promised him immortality if he switched to my side, if he could hand me _you_ … So he asked your parents if he could live with them, on my orders. It was he who invited me in. He was in the house when I killed them.”

Voldemort laughed again at Harry’s expression. “You’re lying,” Harry choked out. “Pettigrew was their friend, and—and he died a long t-time ago.”

“In a sense,” Voldemort said slyly. “I’m glad I did turn him in end, for it was he who finally found me, resurrected me…”

Voldemort lifted his head to Harry’s arm, finding an opening in his impromptu bandage, and started licking his still-bleeding cut. Harry stared, transfixed as Voldemort closed his eyes and dragged his tongue along the wound, lapping up his blood. He still had not bitten him.

It was horrible how fascinating it was, watching Voldemort work his tongue over his forearm. He was exceedingly gentle as he did it—not at all the savage monster Harry had always imagined. It almost felt… good.

But Voldemort wouldn’t simply lick at an already open wound for long. “You don’t have to kill me,” Harry said, his voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this.”

“But I _do_ , Harry… I _do_ …” Voldemort said between long swipes of his tongue. “I’ve always needed to kill you… I’ve been dreaming of it for years…”

Harry tried to pull his arm away again, but Voldemort’s grasp tightened, making it impossible.

“And yet…”

Voldemort lifted his head from his arm, and Harry saw that the cut he’d been licking so ardently was now healed. Right, their saliva had healing properties…

“Never in all my fantasies did I think that you would taste so _good_.”

Harry turned a furious shade of red, flushing at how… _sensual_ he made it sound. In response to his flushing skin, Voldemort moved so his mouth was at Harry’s neck, a rapid motion, and Harry was sure that this was it—

He stopped. “How tempting it is,” Voldemort murmured, his lips against Harry’s throat, “to just sink my teeth into you once, to drain you as fast as I can… To take you against your will, all of you,  _right now…_ ”

His voice had become low and gravelly, and Harry was shaking like a leaf beneath him. “But no,” Voldemort continued. “I am not subject to such desires… I am Lord Voldemort; I kill with intention, with control…”

He sat up, pulling one of Harry’s arms with him. Voldemort loomed over him, staring down at him with those scarlet eyes, and before Harry could even think to try striking him with his other hand, he put Harry’s wrist to his lips, and bit.

Harry was shocked at how instant it was. Even as he watched those long, sharp fangs sink into his wrist, he felt no pain. Heat, pleasant and soothing, flowed through his veins, spreading though his body like the warmth of the sun. Harry’s muscles relaxed all at once, and it was hard, very hard, to control his body at all. He tried to pull his arm away from Voldemort’s mouth, but it was a feeble action. Voldemort had latched onto him.

 _Give in to me,_ came a velvety voice— _in his head,_ Harry realized with a thrill of horror, Voldemort was taunting him _in his head_ — _Be willing, Harry; give yourself to me… It will feel so much better when you do…_

 _No,_ Harry thought, trying to ignore that tempting voice. He felt like he was starting to float, the warmth building into something hotter and lighter.

Voldemort pulled his mouth away from Harry’s wrist, smirking. Blood coated his lips. “Why resist, Harry?” he asked. He ran his tongue over the punctures, and they soon healed over. “You have already lost; you are going to die… But it will be a more pleasant death if you give yourself to me willingly…”

“Fuck you,” Harry spat.

Voldemort glared. He looked infinitely scarier with blood all over his mouth, but Harry was too light-headed to care. “I will have you _begging_ for death,” Voldemort promised.

He sank his teeth into the crook of Harry’s arm. The bite was much more vicious this time, and though Harry knew it should have hurt—this was _killing_ him, he was _dying_ —it didn’t. Heat scoured his body, a lovely, light feeling, and Harry felt like he was soaring.

Oh, it was wonderful, better than anything he could have imagined. It really was no wonder humans sought these monsters out, Harry thought, and that Dumbledore forbade them to ever do such a thing. This was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

 _It will feel better,_ said that silky voice, enticing him, tempting him closer to death. _Give yourself to me, surrender, and it will be so much better, Harry…_

“No,” Harry said, forcing himself to open his eyes, to say it out loud. If Voldemort was going to kill him anyway, he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having his fucking consent on the matter. Besides, he had a feeling Voldemort was determined not to drain him unless he had it, arrogant as he was—so the longer Harry denied him, the longer he lived. “Never.”

Voldemort didn’t seem concerned. He once more pulled away from Harry’s arm, healing the wounds afterwards. “So stubborn,” he said, but he was grinning. Voldemort lowered his blood-stained lips, hovering over Harry’s face, so close that Harry could feel his breath on him. “But you are fighting a losing battle, Harry… Your death is _mine_ …”

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat as Voldemort ran his tongue along his lower lip. He didn’t even feel it when he bit him—there was just a sudden surge of that heat, the venom of a vampire rushing through his veins again, this time radiating from his mouth.

Harry's back arched and he gasped. Voldemort was no longer bothering to pin his arms down—Harry was already too affected by venom and weak with blood loss to struggle—and instead began to run his hands along his sides, up into his unruly hair. Voldemort sucked on his lower lip, hard, but Harry didn’t _feel_ like his blood was rushing out of his body. He only felt that pleasant sensation of the venom, an unnatural feeling like he was floating into space.

_Give in to me. Consent, Harry… Consent to your death and know rapture…_

Voldemort licked Harry's lower lip and face, gently and slowly lapping up the blood that had dribbled onto his chin, then pulled away. Harry looked up into his scarlet eyes in a daze; he did not feel himself. The rush of venom was fading, and Harry found himself already craving it again. It had felt so good…

“Do you want me to take you, Harry?” Voldemort murmured. He lowered his head, once more speaking with his lips against Harry’s throat. “Do you want me to bite you? Just say yes, and I’ll do it… Say yes, and I’ll make you see stars…”

He swirled his tongue on Harry’s neck, sucking lightly on his skin, grazing his fangs over his throat but not biting. Not yet. Harry felt like he was going mad. He didn’t even know who he was anymore, he only knew that he wanted to feel that heated splendor again. “Please,” he said, pitifully raising his jaw, exposing more of his throat.

“Say yes,” Voldemort said. “Say yes, sweet boy…”

Harry swallowed hard. He took a shuddering breath. “...Yes. Y—”

Again, he didn’t feel the fangs sinking into him, but Harry felt the warmth. _Oh, god,_ Harry thought—he was right, it was hotter and lighter and infinitely lovelier now—it was the most beautiful feeling Harry had ever known; he never wanted it to end—

When it did, just a moment later, Harry groaned in disappointment. Voldemort smiled triumphantly, sealing the punctures he’d just made. “ _Good_ , Harry…” he praised, his voice dulcet and haughty. He moved to the other side of Harry’s neck. “Would you like me to do that again?”

“Yes,” Harry said, no longer hesitant. He threw his head back further, too far gone to feel embarrassed or afraid. “Yes, please, please…”

“You beg so prettily,” Voldemort said. He sucked Harry’s skin again, teasing him. “Keep doing it.”

“Please,” Harry gasped. “Please, fuck, please, please, more, please…”

Voldemort laughed against his throat. “And they said you would be my downfall…”

Harry didn’t have the presence of mind to question what that meant. He moaned when he was bit again, an overwhelming dose of venom pouring into him. It was glorious. It was everything.

It was over too soon. “How delicious you are,” Voldemort said, pulling away—but he didn’t heal the wounds this time. He stared with shining red eyes at Harry's bleeding throat when he spoke. “I have drained so many people in my long, long life, Harry… But I’ve never tasted anyone as lovely as _you_ …”

He sunk his teeth in again, and this time Voldemort was the one moaning, the feeling of his voice reverberating against Harry’s throat. “Yes, please,” Harry whimpered, wrapping his shaking arms around Voldemort like he could keep him there with a strength he did not have. “Please don’t stop; _yes_ …”

Voldemort moaned again and bit harder—Harry saw white and he didn’t even care that he was begging Voldemort to kill him because if this was death, then it was all he wanted.

_Yes…_

Harry could feel his heart pounding, loud and heavy in his chest.

_Good, sweet boy..._

It was sluggish. Slow.

_So good..._

He was dying.

_How beautiful you are…_

A loud _bang_ sounded, and everything stopped.

The heat in Harry’s veins vanished, that beautiful toxicity being ripped away—along with Voldemort. The Vampire Lord went flying off of him, and Harry stared, his vision bleary though he still, somehow, had his glasses on. There was someone walking towards him from the trees, someone tall and silvery; a purple-gray blur…

Dumbledore?

_“Dumbledore.”_

Voldemort seethed the word with a cold fury. The silvery man in purple robes smiled.

How did Dumbledore find them here…?

“Tom,” Dumbledore greeted. His blue eyes trailed over Voldemort’s face and mouth, which was covered in Harry’s blood. “You look especially savage tonight.”

Voldemort snarled, but Dumbledore didn’t seem intimidated. He raised his silver-coated scepter. “You should run now, Tom,” he warned. “You are fortunate in that I care more for saving Harry’s life than ending yours… But if you give me no other option, then I am, of course, prepared to fight you.”

“You’re too late,” Voldemort spat. “He’s not dead yet, but he’s very close.” He paused, his red eyes glittering maliciously. “He’s enthralled to me. He gave me his consent. You should have heard him begging, Dumbledore; it was beautiful…”

Dumbledore did not tear his focus away from Voldemort to look at Harry. “This is my last warning to you, Tom,” he said. “Leave now, or regret it.”

“He tastes incredible too,” Voldemort went on leeringly. “I’ve never tasted blood so sweet, nor have I felt so invigorated afterwards…” He stretched his arms above his head, looking at his hands curiously. “In fact… I almost feel _alive_.”

He laughed, loudly, a sardonic sound. Dumbledore’s patience waned.

Harry couldn’t keep track of what happened, it went so quickly. There was a flash of magic from Dumbledore’s scepter, and then another, darker force from Voldemort—and then there was another _bang_ , and a piercing sound, like a scream—the trees shook and there was a great wind—

Then it was over. Voldemort was gone, somehow banished. Dumbledore leaned over Harry, casting a spell on him which felt cool against his neck and arm—healing spells.

“I… I didn’t—”

“Don’t talk,” Dumbledore said. His voice was gentle but firm. “You’ve lost too much blood. You need replenishers. I’m taking you to your home… Your _real_ home.”

Harry was too lethargic to do anything but nod. Dumbledore picked him up and cradled him to his chest, holding him like he was a child. With a sharp _crack_ , they disappeared.


End file.
